Sneak Peek - A Dark Moment

A few sentences from the soon-to-be-released new novel, The Deliverer.

"THORNY UNDERBRUSH REACHED out to snarl my ankles. Jagged rocks leered down from forbidding cliffs. In the distance, the strangled roar of a mountain cat issued a warning that I didn’t need. I was already in the jaws of a monster that gnawed my bones and tore at my muscles. The fever was eating me alive." Linette in The Deliverer by Sharon Hinck

Just Show Up

On the bulletin board behind me in my office I used to have a little recipe card that said, "Show up on every page."

It was a reminder to me that I need to "bring it" each day that I sit down to write. I guess that's true for us all, in whatever jobs we have . . . we need to show up.

The cool thing is, when we show up each day, and make ourselves available to God, He is able to do more with the raw materials than we could ever hope.

How did you "show up" today? Please post a comment. I'd love to hear your story!

The Heaven's Declare

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands." Psalm 19:1 (NIV)

Dear Lord, the vastness and beauty and mystery of the night sky remind me of the vastness and beauty and mystery of Your love. Help me hear the declaration of the skies each day. You are glorious. Amen.

Blessings!

Sharon Hinck

Serving the Story

 

"A book comes and says, 'Write me.' My job is to try to serve it to the best of my ability, which is never good enough, but all I can do is listen to it, do what it tells me and collaborate." -- Madeleine L'Engle

Lord, do You have stories for us to tell? Inspire, equip, and help us listen. Let us serve the story and thus serve You. Amen.

Blessings!

Sharon Hinck

author of The Deliverer

Bonus Scene 3 - The Restorer's Son

The Restorer's Son - Bonus Scene

In which Jameth faces the complications caused by Tag's family.

After Chapter 7

Jameth:

Kieran slipped out into the quiet early morning streets along with the strange boy he’d accumulated on his latest misadventure. I closed the door behind them and scrubbed at my beard with both hands, wishing I could scratch away the frustration burning beneath my skin. Bad enough that Tag’s family still disapproved of our decision to live in Lyric. When I made a life pledge to her, I accepted her outspoken family was part of the bundle. I braced myself for strong opinions, loud disagreements, and the chaos at Tag’s family gatherings. But this! Council guards searching homes, Lyric in an uproar, and Kieran endangering our family by coming to us for help. Why hadn’t I thrown him out the moment I got home yesterday?

A soft hand touched mine and pulled it away from my face. Tagatha nestled up against me, each soft curve coaxing the tightness from my muscles. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t want to get involved.”

I sighed. “I don’t have anything against him.”

Tag handed me a steaming mug of clavo, then wrapped an arm around my waist, staying so close I could smell the grassy fresh-air scent of her hair. “Since when?”

A chuckle rumbled in my chest. “You’re right. He’s caused trouble as long as I’ve known your family. I’m tired of seeing Tristan and Kendra, or your parents, picking up the pieces. And now I’ve done the same thing. Do you know what they’re saying he did?”

“Shh.” She gently guided the mug toward my mouth.

I drank, letting the warmth coax the anger from me. Tagatha knew exactly how to change my course when my temper wanted to rise. She could probably charm a better price out of a Terramin stone dealer.

“We did the right thing,” Tag said as she rubbed slow circles on my back. “Come on. I tried a new bread stew for breakfast. You’ll love it.” I let my muscles relax and allowed her continual optimism to distract me through breakfast.

Too bad I couldn’t bring her to work to keep whispering reassurances. My apprentice at the warehouse greeted me with a breathless account of the latest rumors. Council guardians stopped by twice and questioned me. When I came home for lunch, someone lurked in the alley across from our house.

Give me a transport full of crates to stack, or stone to quarry, or a hard bargain to strike with a greedy trader. That was solid ground. Keeping secrets, feeling scrutiny, wondering how to protect my family in the midst of the confusing stories circulating in Lyric—that was sucking the life from me like a Shamgar mud pit.

The next morning, Tagatha and I rose early so we’d have some time before the children demanded our attention. Sitting at the old wood table, we held hands and whispered prayers to the One. Tagatha of the generous heart prayed for the safety of Kieran and Jake. I couldn’t bring myself to ask blessings on the man who had put our family in danger. Still, I was able to murmur an earnest plea for our protection.

Was it a test of my faith, or the One’s strange sense of humor? As I finished my prayer, an ominous pounding shook our door. Tagatha gasped and turned pale.

“Stay here. I’ll take care of it.” I marched to the door and yanked it open, hoping to stop further noise so the children wouldn’t wake up.

The two Council Guards standing in the doorway had hard-edged faces, cold eyes, and a completely different demeanor than the guardians I knew. One of them pushed past me into our front room.
My fists clenched and I sized them up. I should knock their scrawny heads together and toss them out the door. Tagatha squeaked a protest as one of them strode into her kitchen and rummaged in the cubbies.

“We have orders to search your home,” said the guard who stayed near me at the door.

I forced my arms against my sides, fighting the temptation to take a swing at him. “Fine. But—”

A terrified cry came from the children’s room. Tamara ran out toward me and clung to my legs, sobbing. My chest tightened and heat crept up my neck. “What were you expecting to find in my children’s room?”

I gathered up my daughter and soothed her. Tagatha came out carrying Luc who stared at the guard with round eyes. Tag’s eyes were almost as wide and scared. I bristled, every instinct primed to protect my family.

The Council Guard drew his sword. A sword drawn against me in my own home! Rage glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Before I could roar a command for them to get out, he spoke terse words that knocked the breath from my lungs.

“We also have orders to arrest you both for aiding an enemy of the clans. The Council is considering banishment. Come with us.”

The wail that rose from Tag’s throat will haunt me the rest of my days. I couldn’t reassure her. Even if I fought the guards, where could we go? If we ran we’d be no better than banished anyway. “The children.” I choked the words out. “Let us find a neighbor to care for them until a messenger gets word to our family.”

The guard jerked a nod and led us outside, the children still in night tunics, clinging to us in panic.
Family obligation had been the cause of this disaster, but family was also my only comfort. If necessary, Tara and Payton would take in their grandchildren. Or Tristan and Kendra would raise them as their own. Tag met my eyes and raised her brows, waiting for guidance.

I forced confidence into my voice. “We’ll speak with the Council and get this straightened out.”

My beautiful Tagatha fought back tears so she wouldn’t add to our children’s confusion and fear. She’d always been the glow of first light, fresh, hopeful, as if there were no such thing as night. But the lines of her face had all changed, the way the walls of the city changed late in the day as dusk fell. It broke my heart to see the gray cold of night coloring her spirit. Even if the best outcome happened and we returned to our home and children and normal life, would she ever have the same clear innocent light again?

---

You can read more of the story in The Restorer's Son.
Blessings!
Sharon Hinck

Sneak Peek - The Deliverer

"It's amazing how an impossible challenge becomes possible when it's inevitable." -- Susan in The Deliverer by Sharon Hinck

The Deliverer is the fourth book in the award-winning Sword of Lyric series and is now available to pre-order.

Blessings!

Sharon Hinck

Art is Born

"Art is born when the temporary touches the eternal."-- G.K. Chesterton

May the touch of our Eternal Creator inspire our art today.

Blessings!
Sharon Hinck

My faith is not what I write about or what I paint about, but it is the light by which I see.

Flannery O'Conner

- See more at: http://www.christianimagination.com/quotes/#sthash.BjpOpFkL.dpuf

My faith is not what I write about or what I paint about, but it is the light by which I see.

Flannery O'Conner

- See more at: http://www.christianimagination.com/quotes/#sthash.BjpOpFkL.dpuf

Baking New Stories

Flecked pottery with a blue band, my cookie jar settles in place with a substantial clatter. When I lift the lid I catch the salty-sweet scent of peanut-butter cookies that once filled the container.

Today only crumbs remain.

Some days my writing life feels like an empty cookie jar, full of rich, calorie-laden memories but nothing I can sink my teeth into. It's time to bake a new batch of cookies. Time to fill the jar again.

Gingersnaps? Chocolate chip? Snicker-doodles? The decisions hover above the vacant page.

It would be easier to grab store-bought cookies. Safe, generic, mass-produced.

As I get out my mixing bowl I think of all the people who make better cookies than I do. Sweeter, prettier, more creative, more carefully decorated.

Should I add more sugar, or less? How much baking soda do I need for the story to lift off the page? Will anyone notice if I slip a little wheatgerm into the plot? Which spices should I add to my dialogue?

The cookie jar is waiting. Do I have another story in me? Can I fill it again?

===========

Are you a writer? Composer? Painter? Which cookie type would you use to typify your artistic work? Please tell us about the kind of art you do and what sort of cookie it brings to mind.

Our Shepherd

"What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?" Matthew 18:12 (NIV)

Dear Faithful Shepherd, I am so prone to wander. Thank you for pursuing me, rescuing me, and carrying me home. Amen.

Blessings!
Sharon Hinck
author of The Deliverer

Art as Reflection

"Art is a reflection of God’s creativity, an evidence that we are made in the image of God." -- Francis Schaeffer

Lord, thank you for allowing us the blessing and joy of creating. May our artistic creations bring You glory. Amen!

Sharon Hinck
author of The Deliverer

Bonus Scene 2 - The Restorer's Son

The Restorer's Son Bonus Scene -

in which Jake peeks into Susan's journal and finds more than he was expecting.

-->

After Chapter 5

Jake:

Good grief. What was the big deal? It wasn’t like the attic held state secrets, or that I’d mess up some fancy rug clumping around in my dirty tennis shoes. Mom and Dad weren’t even around, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I popped upstairs to see the new room. I might even find my baseball-card shoebox that had disappeared after one of Mom’s cleaning binges.

Throwing a quick glance over my shoulder, I scrambled up the ladder. I got the whole deal about how she needed some privacy once in awhile. Jon and Anne were into everything. I had to barricade my door to keep them out of my stuff. I’d only take a quick look around and she’d never know.

The reality was more boring than I’d expected. A few bins and boxes and a dusty old chair. The notebook looked new, though. Probably a journal. Mom had talked about starting one.

I stepped closer. Had she written about me? I’d overheard her once on the phone complaining to a friend about how hard it was to be a parent. The words had startled me. Sure, my three younger siblings were a handful, but did she really see me as a burden? Those years of doctors and hospitals . . . I’d never really thought about how it felt from her side. I was busy dealing with the experience from my end. And now that I was getting ready for college, what was she thinking of me? Did she believe I was ready? Did she think I’d be a success? 

I picked up the book. Just one quick peek and I’d put it right back. If she had written something about me, I had a right to know, right?

Instead of juicy info, I found some boring notes about her Bible study. I turned a page and grinned. She’d drawn a pencil sketch. Cool. I didn’t know she could draw. On a whim, I scrawled a little note inside. Sure, it gave away my trespassing, but she’d laugh when she saw it. She had a good sense of humor . . . most days. 

I dropped the journal and ducked to search deeper under the eaves. My missing shoebox could be tucked back in the shadows. 

A prickle danced across my skin, an uncomfortable sensation like an electric razor. The hum built and vibrated inside my skull. Maybe Dad had made a mistake wiring the lights. I glanced down to be sure I wasn’t standing on any metal ductwork. Something electrical was buzzing, but I couldn’t figure out why it resonated so powerfully in my body. I shook my head a few times and stumbled forward, wincing against the rising ache behind my eyeballs. I grabbed my head as if to keep it from exploding and squeezed my eyes shut. Lightning sparkled across the insides of my eyelids. Was I having a stroke or something? 

A sudden whoosh of air engulfed me, along with a small pop of pressure releasing, as if I’d pushed my way through a particularly stubborn revolving door. I pulled my hands away from my face but saw only darkness. Flailing my arms in all directions, I couldn’t find the rafters or boxes or my way back to the ladder. Did strokes cause blindness? I stumbled a few steps and finally found a hard surface. Something solid and round, like a twisting beam, spiraled upward beyond what I could touch. Impossible. The attic roof wasn’t that high. My legs went rubbery, and I stumbled a few steps. Come on, Jake, keep breathing.

Panic built with each gasp. I tried for a slow deep breath, and inhaled an unfamiliar spicy scent, a combination of pine and cinnamon and fresh-cut grass. “Help?” My voice carried in thin, open air. I couldn’t ignore the evidence any longer. I wasn’t in the attic.

I moaned and clung to the beam that felt like a tree trunk. I couldn’t be too far from home. Maybe the nature reserve near our house? Someone would find me eventually. With the decision to hold on and wait for help, the rushing pulse of my heartbeat steadied.

A snuffling noise to my left threw my heart into a gallop again. Wolf? Coyote? Bobcat? Whatever outdoor wilderness I’d found myself in, did it hold predators? I couldn’t just stand here, blind, disoriented, waiting to be attacked. A gravelly growl to my right raised the hairs on my neck. I pushed off from the trunk and moved away from the sounds. The uneven ground underfoot further convinced me that I was outside somewhere. For hours I stumbled aimlessly, in total blackness, terrified that the world had disappeared and I was completely and forever alone. Each time I’d sink to the ground to rest, some strange sound would propel me forward again. 

 After what seemed like years, my straining eyes caught the contour of hills. Was my vision returning? A few minutes later, I stared at the sky and realized dawn was breaking. I wasn’t blind. I’d just been stumbling around in the night—but a night like I’d never seen before. No moon or stars, no distant city lights.

With the relief of being able to see, a hint of wonder swelled under my ribs. A smooth, rolling, gray-green golf course stretched out from the clump of trees. In the distance, tall white towers rose above a strange curvy wall with a gray, featureless sky overhead. I choked back a laugh. It looked just like a scene from one of my video games. I glanced up nervously, expecting some animated dragon to swoop toward me. 

Man, oh, man. Back when I had chemo, they’d warned me of some strange side effects, but could hallucinations show up all these years later? Where was I? And more importantly, what was I supposed to do next?

After swallowing hard, I coaxed my lungs to work again. I took a few more steps, cautiously testing a small circle of earth around me. Would lava creatures burst through the nearby rocks and attack? If I stepped in the wrong place, would quicksand swallow me into the ground? 

I was thinking like a video game again. My gaze trailed to the city in the distance. If this were a video game, the logical next step would be to head toward the city, collecting coins and tokens to boost my score. Unfortunately, I didn’t see either. But if I stood near the empty grove much longer, I’d probably grow roots and turn into one of the weird twisty-trunked trees. Gingerly testing each step, I finally decided the odd, mossy ground would remain firm, so I broke into a jog toward the city. I only hoped this hallucination didn’t mean the cancer was back, or that it had spread to my brain.

---

The rest of Jake's adventure is found in The Restorer's Son. 

Blessings!

Sharon Hinck

Love of Books

"You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me." --C.S. Lewis

Enjoy a good book today!

Blessings,
Sharon Hinck

Sneak Peek - The Deliverer

One morning a melody woke me, drifting in from the sliver of window above my head. A long-whistle trilled and skipped through a playful chorus. My soul rose up in answer.

There was a time,

A time rich with days,

Before sad and lonely songs were sung.

There was a day,

A day rich with time,

Before men fought and beetles stung

---Linette in The Deliverer by Sharon Hinck

Words that Don't Fall

This week I read something striking in I Samuel 3:19-21.

"The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground."

I loved that! I have to confess I tend to babble. That's why I write novels instead of short stories. And a LOT of my words deserve to fall to the ground. I process my thoughts by talking and writing, and it takes time to whittle them down to the ones that count. But how exciting to know that God can make sure that the words that matter -- spoken or written -- can accomplish their work and NOT fall to the ground. The chapter ends by saying, "And Samuel's word came to all Israel."

That was a time before printing presses, cellphones, and websites. Yet God was able to spread the words that He gave Samuel throughout the tribes. For those of us in the field of writing, isn't it a comfort to know He can bring our words wherever He likes?

Lord, let the worthless words drop away and disappear on a puff of wind like chaff. Let the words that come from You endure and spread. Amen!

Speaking of words, my quarterly ezine that I send to my Book Buddies is coming out soon. If you aren't already a Book Buddy, you can sign up at my website. You'll be asked to confirm and "opt in" - and your email will never be used for other purposes. That way you won't miss any insider info that I share. :-)

Blessings!
Sharon

Watered Tree

"And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper." Psalm 1:3 (KJV)

Lord, may our roots rest deeply in Your mercy, and may we drink of Your grace each day. Please produce fruit in our lives. Amen.

Bonus Scene 1 - The Restorer's Son

Today, I'm sharing a glimpse of Tagatha's life in Lyric.

The Restorer's Son - by Sharon Hinck

Bonus Scene

After Chapter 3
Tagatha:

I shoved our door open with one arm, holding baby Luc against my hip with the other.

My husband looked up from a wooden puzzle he was doing with our daughter. “Wow, that was quick. You usually spend half the day at the wool store.”

I set Luc on the floor and pushed my hair out of my face. “Didn’t even get there. Guess who I ran into?”

Jameth stood, rubbing a sore spot on his lower back. “Do I get a clue? Your parents can’t be pried out of Braide Wood when it isn’t a Feast day. Other family?”

“Mm. Sort of.”

“Not Tristan, then? All right, I give up. Who did you run into?”

“Kieran. And he was bleeding. Looked like he’d lost a sword fight or something. I told him he should come here so we could help him out, but he was in a hurry.”

Jameth turned away to hide a wince—and not the kind of wince that came from the backache he’d picked up unloading a recent shipment of stone from Terramin.
I stepped around the puzzle pieces. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That face you made.”

“You don’t like my face?” Grinning, he wandered into our kitchen alcove and scooped the last of the morning’s clavo into a mug.

With one eye on our children, I followed him. “You know I like your face just fine. And all the rest of you.”

His broad shoulders squared and he winked at me over the mug as he raised it. After all this time, he still made my breath catch. In spite of my mother’s horror at our move to Lyric, we’d created a beautiful life here. Still, I’d felt the weight of her disappointment last time she’d visited. She believed I’d abandoned Braide Wood, with all the history and traditions that wove our family together.


I sank onto the bench by our table and ran my hand over the golden wood. Of course I missed Braide Wood—the smooth, twining branches, the scent of pine, and the laughter and stories around a crowded dinner table. I shook my head. I still loved our clan, but I also loved the excitement of Lyric. Most of all, I loved Jameth. And he needed to be in Lyric for his trading business.


“Glad you like all the rest of me.” Jameth patted his ample stomach. “You feed me so well, there’s more of me to like every day.” He took a drink and his face puckered at the bitterness of stale, over-steeped clavo.


“That’s the face. That’s the one you made when I told you I’d seen Kieran.”


He choked out a laugh. “You could be right.”


I should never have told him about my childhood crush. I’d tagged along with Tristan and Kieran for years, so it was only natural my romantic dreams latched on to him briefly . . . as they had with several of the boys in Braide Wood. Silly, looking back on it, but perfectly natural. I snickered. What a disaster that pairing would have been.


I rose from the table, took Jameth’s mug, dumped it out, and started a fresh batch of clavo. “I just wanted to help. He looked like he was in trouble.”

Jameth snorted. “What else is new?”

We walked back to the main room where are children were playing. “I know, but Tristan would want us to look out for him.” I shrugged. “Nothing I can do now. I better get to the shop.”

Jameth gathered up baby Luc and handed him to me, then hoisted our daughter onto his shoulders. “Make it quick. I can’t bring Tamara to my meeting with the Sandor traders today.” Our daughter tilted her curly head and grinned from the high perch.

Luc squirmed and bleated with that half-giggle-but-I’ll-start-crying-in-a-moment sound that he had perfected. I bounced him a few times. “I’ll hurry. Thanks for watching Tamara. I can’t choose yarn colors with both of them tearing the store apart.” The shop spun caradoc wool into the softest textures and dyed so many beautiful shades. Luc was outgrowing his sweater, and I wanted to three-peg a new one in the exact shade of green that glowed from the trees in Braide wood at first light.

Jameth grinned. “I know. But last time I thought you’d gotten lost in there.” He bent to plant a quick kiss on my lips. Tamara giggled and tilted forward, planting sticky fingers in my hair.


I untangled her and gave my husband a playful shove. “I didn’t hear you complain when I finished your new tunic.” Luc squawked again. “Sure you don’t want to watch them both? I would finish faster.”

“Ha! Luc’s my secret weapon. He won’t let you dally.”

I tossed my hair back and marched down the street to my favorite store. I found myself looking about for Kieran. Maybe I’d ask Tristan about him next time Tristan and Kendra came to Lyric for a gathering. Right now I had more important things to think about. If I got some extra green wool, I could add a trim to the tunic I’d started for Jameth. The color would bring out the flecks in his hazel eyes. Breathing a prayer of thanks to the One for bringing Jameth and I together, I giggled as I slid open the door to the yarn shop.

---
I hope you've been enjoying the bonus scenes from The Sword of Lyric series! Three of the books are in paperback and ebook,  and the fourth, The Deliverer,  is available to preorder for the July release.

Sharon Hinck

How Long?

"Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; O Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O Lord, how long?" Psalm 6:2-3 (NIV)

Have you ever cried out the words of the psalmist? Perhaps you are in that place today. Here is my prayer for you:

Dear Lord, I thank You for hearing us, and loving us. Please work swiftly in the lives of those who are in pain. Grant healing. And as we wait for Your timing and Your purposes to unfold, I pray that You would grant us strength to endure, as well as unexpected comfort and consolation. Amen.

Blessings!
Sharon Hinck

A Fun Interview At Suspense Sisters

What would I change? What was the most difficult criticism received? Why do I write the genres I write?

Those are a few of the questions I discussed over at the Suspense Sisters website.

Stop by to discover the answers!

Blessings,

Sharon

Why I Love Books

"Great books help you understand, and they help you feel understood."

–John Green

 

Sneak Peek - The Deliverer

 

"I wanted the gift of the shortest and easiest path. Instead, He gave me the gift of holding me close and strengthening me for the hard path. It took me a long time to understand that both were gifts. And as I embraced the second, my need for the first lost its tormenting grip." 

--Susan in The Deliverer by Sharon Hinck

Song of Lyric Contest Winner Announced!

After much deliberation, the winner of the Song of Lyric Contest has been selected!

Congratulations to Nina Ruth Bruno for her beautiful work. Cameron Banks, who wrote a choral arrangement for The Deliverer will be composing her song and sending her the score. She will also receive the first autographed copy of The Deliverer - Sword of Lyric Series Book 4.

I want to thank each gifted writer who participated. I know your lyrics were a blessing to followers of my blog, and your willingness to play in the world of the Sword of Lyric books also encouraged my heart!

Blessings to all!
Sharon Hinck
 

For those who missed it the first time it was posted, here again is Nina Ruth's song:

Memories of Braide Wood (Linette's Song)
by Nina Ruth Bruno

Come wipe the dust from these packed-away dreams,
When a sword's pierced my heart -
and all's not what it seems -
Come break the dark with the dawn of the Day,
Oh, Promised One, show me the way...

I remember the scent of the woods,
and the warm hearth of light,
and the place where he stood -
When girlhood hopes towards a future so bright
Were a tune on the breeze and a song in the night.

CHORUS:
But now these are just misty memories,
And I wait in shadows for eyes to see
The coming of the longed-for One
The Hope of all Eternity.

Caught between time with a song and a prayer,
And a hope in a heart now burdened with cares;
Suspended between the Then and Not Yet,
I will quietly wait, and will lift up my head,

Singing...

CHORUS:
Bring to fulfillment these memories,
Lighten these shadows with eyes to see
Oh come to me, longed-for One,
My Hope for all Eternity.
Singing...

CHORUS:
Bring to fulfillment these memories,
Lighten these shadows with eyes to see
Oh come to me, longed-for One,
My Hope for all Eternity.

Singing...
Lai lai lai lai, lai lai lai lai, my Hope for all Eternity...

[Repeats/fades]

Known

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,    before you were born I set you apart;"  Jeremiah 1:5a (NIV)

Today I'm rejoicing that we aren't random or accidental. God designed our unique beings--body, mind, and spirit. We are known and we are loved.

Blessings!
Sharon Hinck

Birthday Wishes

My birthday is this weekend, and I get to share a treat with YOU:


The paperback of The Deliverer is now available to pre-order!

And I can't think of any birthday gift I'd love more than to have readers place their orders this weekend.

If you do, please let me know... and have a slice of cyber cake!

Blessings,
Sharon Hinck

Sneak Peek - The Deliverer

 
-->

"Approaching a teen was tricky. She might bite my head off, but, then, that was just another scar of motherhood to be worn cheerfully—like stretch marks." -- Susan Mitchell in The Deliverer by Sharon Hinck

Beautiful Vistas

Part of the pain of being an artist (whether with paint, dance, or words) is that during the process of translating an artistic vision into a medium that can be shared, the result doesn't always match up with the image in our minds. I find it particularly frustrating when trying to communicate about "God stuff." God is so beyond description that my efforts will always fall short.

I seek to write truth-filled stories, but my words often feel clumsy. They are the best words I have to offer, but I express only hints of what I long to understand or share.

Then I remember why I feel called to work in the arts (music, theatre, dance, and now writing). God is so awesome and multifaceted that we need a WIDE variety of means to communicate with Him and about Him. One means isn't enough. Give me a pipe organ, but also compose a work on electric guitar. Write a sonnet, but also a thriller. Every kind of art, every genre, gives us one more facet of His beauty, and one more means to convey the truth of our falleness and His grace.

Yes, the efforts will fall short, but the attempt is glorious, because as we study the beautiful vista in order to interpret it, we are changed by it.

So let's continue the struggle of creating art in every form, hoping others will glimpse the beauty of God's grace at work within the reality of our sometimes ugly lives.

Blessings!
Sharon Hinck
(author of The Deliverer)